


Easier To Clean

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Masks, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other, Pining, Secret Identity, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wet Dream, old fic, really it's a wet nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 14:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Dan dreams of something inhuman behind Rorschach's mask.





	Easier To Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of my effort to get everything off the kinkmeme.

"Going to need a little help with this, Daniel," Rorschach growls, plucking at his coat. 

There's a deep gash in his back (machetes, whatever _will_ those little cherubs think of next?) and weirdly enough, Dan is really nervous. He's always a little nervous whenever he gets to touch Rorschach (to prevent either of them from dying, handshakes) because it's like petting a tiger. The coiled ferocity of his partner's body is hardly human, and he's never sure if he's more frightened or turned on. It's rough, but he's used to it. This is somehow different. He swallows and eases the coat off.

"Jeez, how many layers are you wearing? There's no blood on this."

"Good. Easier to clean."

"There's no blood on this, either," Dan whispers, peeling off the suit jacket.

"Good. Easier to clean." 

He says this like a mantra as innumerable layers come off. Trench, suit jacket, vest, suspenders, dress shirt. Dan pauses, his hands resting lightly on his partner's back, one on each side of the massive, bloodless gash in Rorschach's skin.

"There's no blood on this, either." His voice is dull. Nothing feels real. 

All he can see in the wound is stationary darkness. When Rorschach gives his customary answer, Dan thinks _throw it into the fire, you won't need it anymore_ , and shudders all over, peeling off the undershirt. It's like slashed fabric instead of skin, and as he turns to get needle and catgut, it finally begins to bleed.

A trail of fine, clean sand comes running out of the cut like the stream from the top of an hourglass. Dan does the only thing he can think of, and stops it with his hand. The pressure is tenuous, and he isn't too surprised when his hand slips into the gap. The sand is warm and feels alive, each grain apparently rolling of its own volition, swirling around his fingertips. Rorschach groans, and what is now clearly a tear in some final fabric widens, and Dan finds himself deluged in slithering sand that slides around him and down his body as Rorschach's sighs envelop him. His body sags and folds into a puddle, forgotten as the sand flows around Dan and he gently moves his hands through it in a strange, diffuse sort of lovemaking. It seems completely natural, despite obviously being just the opposite, and soon Dan is on the floor, writhing as the glimmering sand sweeps over him again and again, each pass a softly burning revelation. 

By the end of it he doesn't know where sand stops and skin begins, and Rorschach cries out in the same moment he does. And then fades away. The sand is only sand, and Dan is alone with a Rorschach-shaped husk that stares accusingly at him with black holes for eyes.

He jolts awake and sees a black and white mask staring at him. "Good evening, Daniel."

"Rorschach!" He yelps. "Oh god..." He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly aware that he's trembling violently and that his pajama bottoms are sticky. Christ. The concerned shape at the edge of his bed is too much like the husk. "Sit down."

He does. "Nightmare?" His voice is more sympathetic than Dan would have expected.

"Yes." Shaking hands reach out and start unbuttoning Rorschach's jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"Humor me, all right?" He keeps going until he can press his hand to Rorschach's heart and feel its reassuringly un-sandy (quicker than he would have thought) beat. "I dreamed there was nothing under your mask." Is what he says, after a long silence.

"Hurm." Rorschach rolls it up to the bridge of his nose and gnashes yellow teeth. "Jaw muscles have to connect to something, Daniel." After that he can laugh, and shoo Rorschach out so he can scrub his degenerate carcass and prepare for another night of pretending not to want him.


End file.
